I definitely don't want to achieve some kind of rock star status.
I've spent hundreds of hours working over words, and part of me, a large part of me, has a desire to do something else.
If the Buddhist's job is to be detached, I think that the artist's job is to be both detached and attached.
Maybe being an artist is a kind of detachment. You're in the cave, you're isolated, you're apart from everything and it's there you can find out what you believe in, or what is - what is the nature of being, as you see it.
It's just that very few poets disturb the peace to any degree.
The act of writing itself isn't outrageous. And the institution subtly and insidiously works on you in such a way that though you seem to have freedom you become a servant. Your main issue is to get promoted to the next thing. Or get invited to a picnic. Or get tenure. Or get laid.
I was ruined before I got started. I say ruined, but I could say blessed; I was too far gone to believe in it. And I'm shocked how generation after generation repeats the behavior.
I've walked with very famous people down red carpets over to the crowd of thousands of people, and you'll reach out to shake their hand and they've got a camera in their hand. And they don't even get their hand out, because they're recording the whole time.
I'm so immersed in my little world that I don't often sit back and pay attention to what's going on around me. It truly stuns me when people recognize me. Obviously, I'm not a film star, but even at a design exhibition or art exhibition, if someone comes up to me, I'm sort of taken aback. I don't think of myself like that. But if I can have an effect on young designers, that's great - particularly young designers coming from Australia. Europeans grew up with design. The rest of us lived on tidbits of information.
All that is, was, and will be. Universe much too big to see. Time and space never ending, disturbing thoughts, questions pending. Limitations of human understanding. Too quick to criticize, obligation to survive, we hunger to be alive. All that is, ever, ever was, will be ever twisting, turning, Through The Never. In the dark, see past our eyes. Pursuit of truth, no matter where it lies. Gazing up to the breeze of the heavens, on a quest, meaning, reason. Come to be, how it begun. All alone in the family of the sun, curiosity teasing everyone. On our home, third stone from the sun.
She tried to imagine what Charles would do if another man came up to him and said, "You bring me joy.